Down Once More
by auroraninetynineclassof2017
Summary: When Juliet, an avid Phangirl, wakes up in Christine Daae's body, she is determined to create the happy ending most phangirls want and would kill for. However, it won't be as easy as she thinks.
1. Prologue

The audience cheered madly. Ramin Karimloo waved them off and bade them goodnight, trying to get offstage so he could get ready for the gala. But then, he felt a pair of arms playfully grab his waist. He laughed and turning around, saw Sierra Boggess, laughing back with her luminous smile, Ramin swept her off her feet and held her like a princess. The audience roared and the two friends left the stage as Sierra waved goodbye.

I paused the DVD and popped it out into its case. Em had bought me _the Phantom of the Opera Live at the Royal Albert Hall in Celebration of 25 years_ for my birthday making this the 5th DVD in my Phantom collection with the 2004 adaptation, the 2012 sequel filmed in Australia, the 1990 television mini series, and my own high school production. I also had been given the original novel and the Susan Kay novel that year. The VCR clock (yes, my parents still own a VCR) read midnight. I had waited until my parents went to bed to watch the performance because watching it with them was uncomfortable for me. Phantom was my own private world and its message of compassion and embracing the dark and light inside you had come at a very turbulent time in my life.

Yawning, I shut off the TV and went to bed. While praying, scenes from the show kept nudging into my head. I switched off the light and tucked myself in. _Wouldn't it be wonderful to live in that world?_ I thought, _In Paris? To sing for joy and be adored by Parisian elite? To fall in love? To be loved and appreciated?_ "I wish I was with the Phantom," I murmured, "I wish I was Christine Daaé." My eyes grew heavier and fluttered shut in sleep.


	2. Chapter 1

The pealing of a church bell aroused me from my sleep. Stretching and yawning, I sunk back into the pillows. Turning over, there was another girl sleeping in a bed across from me and another in front of me. This was probably some odd dream. _Wake up,_ I willed myself, squeezing my eyes shut. Nothing happened. I pinched the pressure point under my arm. _Wake up._ All that happened was my eyes watered in pain. Okay, I needed to figure out where I was. This was obviously a dormitory since the room was stuffed with a plethora of snoozing girls, but it wasn't in the style of a boarding school like the ones in British books. There was a tiny window, so I crossed over and peered outside. The dorm overlooked an empty urban street. Lampposts dotted the area against brownstones covered in vines a la _Madeline_. There were a few abandoned buggies, so I was definitely in a century past. Further down the city I could make out the outline of some construction project. It looked like a giant letter A missing its triangular point. I did a double take; the Effiel Tower?

What was it we had learned in French class again? I racked my brains. Charles Auguste Eiffel had begun construction on the tower in 1887, so I was in France in the late 1800's. My heart skipped a beat; did that mean I was…impossible, no way. My shock was interrupted by a rapping at the door. The other girls stirred and a woman gracefully swept inside. She was clad in black and her black gray-stranded hair was too tightly pulled back into a bun that showcased her sharp jaw line and gave her a formidable face with her already formidable height. My jaw nearly dropped; it was Madame Giry! "No time for dilly-dallying girls." Her tone was firm and she spoke slowly. "Get some breakfast and go warm up for rehearsal. It's the season's opening so there's no time to waste."

She exited the dorm and the girls dragged themselves out of bed. Okay, so I was a ballerina in the Phantom Universe. _Well, I better make myself useful._ I proceeded to make the bed when a voice behind me asked, "Are you excited for the opening, Christine?" Of course Christine was here, it would be a thrill to meet her and see her story unfold. Someone tapped me. "Christine?" I froze; she was talking to _me._ Turning around, there was a fluffy blonde haired girl with doe blue eyes and a lean figure. This _had_ to be Meg. "Are you excited for Hannibal?" Chalumeau's _Hannibal._ Tonight when it all began…

Collecting myself I answered, "Yes. Yes, Meg, I am."

She frowned. "Are you feeling alright Christine? You look a little dazed."

I tried not to laugh; when did Christine ever _not_ look dazed? "Just tired, that's all."

"Well, we'd better hurry. Mother has breakfast waiting for us in her office."

"You go on ahead, I'll catch up."

Meg gave me one last look before running off. I finished making the bed, looked around the dormitory and found the floor length mirror and gazed at my reflection. My face was still the same, but a couple of years older. My pixie hair had grown just above my rear and was curled into bed-headed ringlets. My body was toned with slimmer arms and legs and a tucked in waist probably from years of dancing. I felt giddy; I was here, I was _her_ , _I_ was Christine Daae. And that meant I could play out the story and maybe even change it…this was going to be a dream come true in every sense of the cliché. I was about to head down for breakfast, when it occurred to me that _he_ was here. Hopefully he hadn't been watching me sleep, but just in case. I went back up to the mirror and kissed the frame before finally leaving


	3. Chapter 2

Madame Giry had set up a spread of assorted croissants with raspberry jam and tea and coffee in her office. With Meg and I, she was gentler and far more approachable than her iron demeanor let on, but I knew she was tough and could bring out that side in a heartbeat. It was easy to see that she was the maternal figure in Christine's life – or rather _my_ life. Meg and I helped clean up and thanked Madame Giry for the meal. We walked to the dressing rooms where the costumes had been laid out the night before. They had the style of Maria Björnson, the original costume designer for Phantom. The bodices were colored thick stripes of blood red and forest green with a jewel encrusted neckline. The skirts matched, but were strings of beaded tassles along with the straps. We were given gold duffs to wear at the wrists and our hair was pinned back with a gold teeth headpiece kept together by an emerald pin. Meg and I helped each other fasten our costumes and applied each other's make up which was earth toned to look like the desert.

All the girls who had finished went into the ballet studio a few doors down and lined up at the barre to stretch. I was hesitant, I hadn't practiced ballet since I was eight, but surprisingly my body knew what to do. Christine's body remembered all the basic positions and stretches, so it would no doubt know the choreography for the slave girl's ballet. That made me breather easier. A short knock quieted the room. A man with a toothbrush mustache and spectacles strutted inside. He sat down at the piano in the far corner and opened a leather bound folder. "Come girls," he called, clapping his hands, "gather round." Ah, Monsieur Reyer, the musical director was here for our vocal exercises. A few girls groaned as they made their way to the piano. I understood, they were dancers who weren't the least bit interested in singing. But we were the chorus and did as we were told if we wished to be paid.

We sang our scales in rapid succession and did some exercises. This was second nature to me, but Christine's range allowed me to go past my limit of a high B flat. I had always admired the purity of a soprano's voice, and for now, I had one. Monsieur Reyer ushered us out and we made our way to the wings offstage. Others bustled by, working in last minute changes to our rehearsal and fetching whatever people needed. Backstage was an even busier world where people moved like clockwork. Stagehands lit the scalloped lights at the edge of the stage, flies up in the rafters lowered scenery and adjusted sandbag counterweights running back and forth over the rickety bridges. Prop masters polished and double checked various knick knacks. Dressers adjusted costumes just so and hairdressers tamed unkempt locks of hair.

In the pit, musicians tuned their instruments and Monsieur Reyer opened his heavily annotated score. Performers completed last minute vocal exercises or downed one last swig of water. The ballet girls and I rubbed our pointe shoes in chalk and giggled excitedly. Monsieur Reyer tapped his baton and a hush fell backstage. All the ballet girls readied themselves and froze in position. The overture played at a bombastic forte. While the curtain was still closed, a woman bustled forward and took her place. I tried not to gag; La Carlotta. She was a juicy woman and her body looked like it was trying to keep the excessive body fat from spilling out. Her whole apparel was overdone; her costume dripped with enough diamonds and sequins to blind someone, her hair was piled up too high, her face caked with enough makeup to have someone my age break out in blemishes for a week, and her plumed crown made me feel sorry for some poor, plucked bird somewhere flapping around with a naked bottom.

The curtain rose and Carlotta flounced on stage, holding the "severed head." She took a deep breath and opened her mouth:

"This trophy, from our saviors, from our saviors!"

My eyes widened. There was doubt that Carlotta could sing and effortlessly, but what ruined it was her one and only dynamic: LOUD. Her voice beat you over the head to get your attention. Look at me! Hear me! Love me! Other ballet girls around me winced and wrinkled their noses.

Carlotta kissed her "trophy" and fiercely proclaimed:

"From the enslaving force of Rome!"

On the down beat, chorus members marched out in Carthage attire with men clad in gold armor and holding spears.

"With feasting and dancing in song,

Tonight in celebration,

We greet the victorious throng,

Returned to bring salvation!

The trumpets of Carthage resound.

Hear Romans now and tremble!

Hark to our step on the ground!

Hear the drums, Hannibal comes!"

During the last line, a giant mechanical elephant rolled onstage akin to the Trojan Horse. Three or four stage hands were inside working the mechanics. Mounted on the elephant in all his splendor was Hannibal himself, Signor Ubaldo Piangi. His voice was a majestic tenor, but not overdone and easy on the ears.

"Sad to return to find the land we love,

Threatened once more by Roma's far reaching grasp."

There came a loud groan followed by tapping from the pit and everyone stopped. "No, no, no!" shouted Monsieur Reyer. "Signor Piangi, it's _Rome_! _Not_ Rom _a._ I know it is hard for you, but at least make an attempt."

Piangi nodded. "Si, si, signor. 'Scusi." He practiced annunciating. "Rome. Rome!" Monsieur Reyer rapped his baton and everyone collected themselves. But before Piangi could even take a breath, we heard scuffling steps come up the stage.

"This way gentlemen, this way. Rehearsals as you can see are underway for our season's opening of Hannibal." Three stately gentlemen in fur coats and top hats came on stage. One was the current manager Monsieur Lefévre. The short red faced one was Monsieur Firmin and the one with the handlebar mustache was Monsieur André.

"You're right Monsieur Lefevre," agreed Monsieur Reyer, "rehearsals _are_ underway…AND RIGHT NOW WE ARE _REHEARSING!_ "

Monsieur Lefevre tipped his hat. "My apologies, Monsieur Reyer. Proceed, proceed."

"Once again, Signor, from ' _sad to return'_ "

Piangi inhaled and the harpsichord cued him in.

"Sad to return to find the land we love,

Threatened once more by _Rome's_ far reaching grasp.

Tomorrow we shall break the chains of _Rome,_ tonight, rejoice!

Your army has come home!"

The ballerina's and I scuttled on the stage, readying our positions. The tambourine played us in and with the clarinet and oboe, the slave's ballet began. We leapt in our chains and arabesqued and preened to please Hannibal. Our slave master kept watch and occasionally leapt in between us with a crack of his whip. He was accompanied by the Prima Ballerina, La Sorelli. She was an exotic, commanding Italian beauty with a fluid grace in her dancing. I would have stopped and watched her if I wasn't dancing myself.

The ballet was approaching the end and we sashed to our marks. Piangi descended from his perch as we all sang:

"Bid welcome to Hannibal's guests the elephants of Carthage.

As guides on our conquering quests, Dido sends Hannibal's friends."

Piangi kissed Carlotta's hand and escorted her between the rows of us slaves bowing at their feet while soldiers looked on in the background.

"Once more to my welcoming arms," Carlotta belted, "My love returns in splendor!"

"Once more to the sweetest of charms," Piangi gushed, "My heart and soul surrender!"

We kneeled while a few girls in the background pirouetted in praise and extended our arms.

"The trumpeting elephants sound!

Hear Romans now and tremble!

Hark to our step on the ground!

Hear the drums Hannibal comes1"

The trumpet fanfare blasted out and the opening number was over. The three men off to the side politely applauded. We sat down and relaxed, but I kept my posture erect and didn't let my shoulders collapse. I didn't want the attitude of a Prima Donna, but carrying myself like one would boost my confidence for what was to come.

"Thank you ladies and gentlemen, thank you very much!" called Monsieur Reyer, "We're going to need to do that all over again, our musical cues were off!"

Monsieur Lefevre stepped forward. "Before you do, could I okease have everyone's attention? I have an announcement to make." The banging of a staff offstage silenced a few stray talkers. "Thank you, Madame Giry. Ladies and Gentlemen, I know that for several weeks now there have been rumors of my imminent retirement (here he shot a glare at Meg who shifted uncomfortably) and I can now tell you they were true." A murmur spread through the cast. "I've enjoyed my 25 years at the Opera Populaire, but it is imperative I retire for my health. And I'm proud to introduce to you my successors, our previous patrons Monsieur Richard Firmin and Monsieur Giles Andre."

There was polite applause from everyone and the new managers bowed pompously. Monsieur Lefevre addressed them. "You already know Monsieur Reyer our Chief Repeteur and Mdame Giry our Ballet Mistress. But may I present to you gentlemen our Prima Ballerina, La Sorelli." She bowed as the managers tipped their hats "…our principal tenor, Signor Ubaldo Piangi…"

"An honor, Signor!" Said Monsieur Firmin. The jubilant Italian grasped his hands in a gesture of welcome.

"Piaceri!"

Carlotta, infuriated at not being introduced first, shoved her way forward. She extended her hand cleared her throat. "And of course our pride and joy" -a few people tried and failed to hold in their laughter- "Signora Carlotta Esparanza Guidicelli, our leading soprano for 5 seasons now!"

"Oh of course, of course Signora!" Monsieur Andre bowed and kissed her hand. Carlotta nodded in approval. "I have experienced all of your _greatest_ roles! Marguerite, Madame Butterfly, Queen of the Night, all sublime performances bella diva!" These two were going to get along just fine.

Carlotta place a hand over her battering ram bosom and rapidly batted her eyelashes. "You're flattery is too much for me, Monsieur, please!" I rolled my eyes, Carlotta could never be _convincingly_ humble.

"If I remember rightly, Elissa has a rather fine aria in Act III of Hannibal. I was wondering Signora if as a personal favor, you'd oblige me with a private rendition. Unless of course Monsieur Reyer objects."

Carlotta put out a hand. "Nonsense! If my new managers command, I must!" She snapped her fingers. "Monsieur Reyer!"

"My diva commands!" he sighed, "but we really need to get back to rehearsal." He glanced up at the managers. "Will two stanzas suffice?'

"Two stanzas wil _quite_ suffice, thank you," said Monsieur Firmin.

Monsieur Reyer flipped through his book and began playing at tempo allegretto. "Non, non, non!" Carlotta screamed, stamping her foot. "Moderato, moderato! And the higher key! How do you expect me to sing well if you can't get it right, you stupid man?!"

The new managers exchanged glances, but Monsieur Reyer just gritted his teeth and took it in his stride. He went back to the beginning and started over with Carlotta's specifications. She took her scarf in her arms and began to over sing the aria.

"Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye.

Remember me every so often, promise me you'll try.

On that day, that not so distant day, when you are far away and free,

If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me."

During this stanza, she flirtatiously flicked the managers with her scarf. Greedy song bird, but thankfully, any moment now we wouldn't have to put up with her much longer.

"Think of me, think of me waking-"

And sure enough, right on cue a backdrop came crashing down on Carlotta. People screamed and there were cries of:

"It's him!"

"He's here!"

"It's the Phantom!"

"He is with us! It's the Opera Ghost!"

The men rushed over to Carlotta, trying to lift the backdrop off and hoist her to her feet. But I remained calm and looked up in the rafters. I could make out someone's silhouette and as the person walked away, there was a brief glimpse of a cloak swish by. Butterflies flapped inside me; soon he'd reveal himself to me, soon…

The other person who remained completely unfazed was Madame Giry. She emerged from the wings carrying an envelope. The first letter. The Phantom's game was about to begin, "Signora, are you alright?! Someone get Joseph Bouquet down here this instant! He's responsible for this!" shouted Monsieur Lefévre. Immediately, a fat, balding man clutching a whiskey flask and some rope came running out huffing and puffing. He was a about to take a swig to calm down until Monsieur Lefévre snatched it away. "Bouquet! For God's sake man, what is going on up there?!"

"It wasn't my fault!" Joseph barked, which sent Monsieur Lefévre reeling, presumably because Bouquet's breath stank of liquor. "I had to leave my post! The other flies will tell you there was no one operating the backdrops. The only person who could've done this was the Phantom and now I've got to try and clean up his mess!" Bouquet snatched back his flask and walked away, chugging it down. Everybody was twittering and whispering again.

"Good heavens! What insolence!" spat Monsieur Firmin.

"If I was in charge, that fat oaf would be gone and the Phantom would pay for his crimes!" Carlotta declared.

Monsieur André frowned. "Ghost? Crimes?" He laughed and gently placed his arm around Carlotta. "Signora, please, you mustn't get excited, these things do happen."

Carlotta slowly looked up at Monsieur André, her anger simmering beneath a smiling surface. Knowing that look, the company braced ourselves. "These…things… _do happen_?" She chuckled briefly and then let her rip. "You have been here _five minutes_ , what do you know?! Si, these things _do_ happen all the time! For the past five years, these things do happen. And did you stop them from happening?" she demanded of Monsieur Lefévre, stomping to him, "No!" And she backhanded him across the face, hard enough to knock someone's teeth out. There were gasps, one from me. Since when did Carlotta have to resort to violence to get her way? "And you!" She whirled around to face Monsieur André. He cowered and covered his face, expecting to get backhanded, too. But Carlotta just yelled and my face wrinkled in disgust as I saw her spray him with spit. "You're as bad as him! 'These things do happen'? Well, until you stop these things from happening, _this_ thing does not happen!" She threw down her scarf and waltzed off the stage, calling "Rapido, Ubaldo, andiamo!"

Piangi wagged his finger at the shocked managers. "Amateurs!" He ran after Carlotta calling, "I'm coming, Principessa, I'm coming!" The company looked around. What were we to do now that the two stars had walked out of the show?

Monsieur Lefévre straightened his hat. "I don't think I'll be able to assist you much more from here, gentlemen. Good luck. If you need me, I shall be in Vienna." He practically ran off the stage and ignored the new managers calling after him. The two flabbergasted men looked around helplessly. Monsieur André was the first to collect himself.

"La Carlotta will be back." He was speaking mostly to reassure himself, but he didn't look convinced.

"You think so, Monsieur?" Madame Giry emerged from the shadows with her staff. "I have a message for both of you from our Opera Ghost."

"Dear God in Heaven, you're all obsessed!" said Monsieur Firmin

Madame Giry arched an eyebrow. "He merely welcomes you to his opera house-"

" _His_ opera house?!" he interrupted, but she ignored his interjection.

"-commands you continue to leave box five empty for his use," she gestured to the empty box where I'm sure he was having a laugh at the misfortunes of the bumbling managers and waiting for his student to shine, "…and reminds you that his salary is due."

The two men chortled. "His salary? What rot! Who ever heard of a ghost being paid?"

"Monsieur Lefévre paid him 20,000 francs a month." Madame Giry stated

Monsieur Firmin looked like he was going to pitch a fit. "20,000 francs!"

"He paid the Phantom on time every month and in turn, we were mostly left alone. But perhaps you could afford more with your new patrons, the DeChagny's?"

Madame Giry didn't say the Vicomte DeChagny, so that probably meant his brother Phillipe was here in this world. Along with Raoul…how would I deal with him? I shook him from my mind, I'd have to cross that bridge when I came to it.

"Yes, Madame." Monsieur Firmin brought me out of my thoughts. "And we were hoping to make that announcement public tonight with the Comte at tonight's opening gala, but how can we now that we have to cancel _and_ refund a whole house because we lost our stars?!"

"Wait," said Monsieur André, "shouldn't there be understudies for the principles?"

"For Signor Piangi, yes," said Monsieur Reyer, "but Carlotta refused to have one when she signed her contract."

Monsieur Firmin threw up his hands in defeat. "There you are, André. Our first day on the job and everything is already falling apart."

Meg got to her feet. I straightened up, my hour had come. "Christine Daaé could sing it, sir."

"Who are you?" asked Monsieur Firmin.

"Meg Giry, sir, Madame Giry's daughter."

"And who is this Christine Daaé?"

I stood up. "I am she, Monsieur." I stood tall and proud and kept eye contact.

He sneered. "A ballet girl? Don't be silly."

"She's been taking lessons for five years from a renowned teacher."

"Oh, from whom?"

I shook my head. "I am not at liberty to say, Monsieur. My teacher has asked he remain anonymous."

"Anonymous?"

"He has his reasons, Monsieur, and I respect his wishes."

Firmin turned to André. "I don't believe this." But André held up his hand.

"Are you related to the Swedish violinist, Gustave Daaé?"

"Yes, Monsieur, he was my father. It was he who brought me here."

Madame Giry came behind me and placed a hand on my shoulder. "I can vouch for the girl, Monsieur's. She is a dedicated performer and has been well taught."

André pondered this. "Very well," he concluded, "We'll give it a try."

Firmin goggled at him. "You can't be serious, André! She's a _chorus girl_ with no credentials!"

"Let's listen out of courtesy. And if she's good we won't have to refund the house."

"Fine! On your head be it!"

Andre smile at me and beckoned me to the front. "Come along, my dear, don't be shy."

I went to Carlotta's mark and picked up the scarf. "From the beginning of the aria, please, Mademoiselle," said Monsieur Reyer. I nodded. I always practiced Think of Me every day to keep the top of my range in check. This song was about a woman being separated from her love. And although it was destined to never be, no matter what happened, she wanted him to remember her with happiness. I glanced up at box 5. _Just sing for him._ I inhaled and Monsieur Reyer began the aria, tempo allegretto in the key of D. trying to disguise my nerves better than Christine did, and focusing on how the music made me feel, I sang.

"Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye. Remember me every so often, promise me you'll try. On that day, that not so distant day when you are far away and free, if you ever find a moment spare a thought for me." No one cut me off and I gladly continued. Everyone and everything around me was forgotten, only me standing on the shores of Carthage, calling to my beloved as he sailed away with his fleet. As the aria ended, I threw my arms to him. My heart. My soul.

"Ladies and gentlemen…" Andre brought me back to reality. The company was silent, no cheers, no boos. Andre took my hand and turned me around to face everyone. "We have found our new star!" The company was beaming, even Madame Giry had turned up the corners of her stiff lips. Eager applause broke out with whistles from the soldiers. I laughed out of happy shock.

"Thank you!"

"Yes, yes, yes," Firmin gruffed, "Well done. Would somebody show us to our office so we can get some work done?"

Madame Giry stepped forward. "Certainly, Monsieurs, follow me." She nodded at me in approval before leading them away. Monsieur Reyer exchanged some muttering with his assistant.

"Mademoiselle Daae, get changed and come with me. I'll need to go over the score with you and our Hannibal understudy."


	4. Chapter 3

Running up to the dormitory, I frantically tore off my jewelry and costume not paying attention to how much it hurt, and grabbed the first dress I could find. The sinched waist snugged on, but the layered skirt must've weighed 40 pounds! It was a miracle I could move and not be dragged down. Finding Monsieur Reyer, he escorted me into the rehearsal space. Waiting for us was Piangi's understudy, a dark haired Englishman, who was pleasantly surprised at my fluent conversation.

The one-on-one rehearsal flew by. Monsieur Reyer provided me with a score and fountain pen to annotate and directed us from the rehearsal piano, Piangi's understudy had already memorized his part and needed to work on technicality. My technicality was in check, but I had to memorize my other few arias and duets. Elissa was the female principle, but this was Chalumeau's _Hannibal._ It was still nail biting, though, with the performance mere hours away. Working in summer stock musical theatre, we were given one week, six weeks tops. Monsieur Reyer demanded nothing short of perfection, but his patience relaxed me and rehearsal ended quickly.

After lunch, I changed into ballet leotards so Madame Giry could go over my choreography and blocking. First with me, then the whole ensemble. This again went by quickly with Christine's limber body and my previous (albeit limited) dance experience. "Let me show you your dressing room," she said once we were finished. "A few of your clothes were brought up and measurements need to be taken to adjust the costumes." The dressing room was Carlotta's, jade wallpaper with a vanity, a screen, a chaise lounge, an armoire, and another floor length mirror bolted to the wall trimmed with gold leaf.

I was also assigned Carlotta's maid, a girl a little over my age. She was the only person who'd liked Carlotta and was understandably irked at being left behind. She despised me; tying the measuring tape too tight so it bit at my flesh leaving red marks and slamming my makeup tray with a "THUNK", almost tipping a few jars and vials of creams and mineral powders. "Would Mademoiselle like anything before dinner?"

I sank on the chaise, letting my arms and legs tangled. "A hot bath and some lemon tea would be nice." She nodded and stepped into the adjoining boudoir. I went to the armoire and found the signature lace bathrobe. It took a lot to keep the phan girl in me from squealing, but I stepped behind the screen and changed. Again, hopefully he wasn't watching, but he wouldn't. Despite who he was and who he'd been, he'd always been a gentleman.

The tile bit my bare feet as I walked to the steaming tub. "I'll prepare your tea for you." The maid shut the door and stripping down, I dipped a foot in the water, only to immediately leap back with a yelp. The bath water was scalding! The maid must've hated me more than I thought. I added some cold water and sunk in, closing my eyes and tuning out the world.

After scrubbing up, the maid entered with a cup of tea. I smiled. "Oh, thank you. I'll take it after my bath."

"You should really drink it now, Mademoiselle, before it gets cold."

"I'm almost done, just need to wash my hair."

"But this tea is made with special herbs to soothe your vocal cords. And it must be drunk immediately or it loses its potency."

I froze. _Special tea with special herbs?_ The Charles Dance version! In the 1990 TV film, Carlotta mixed a special tea for Christine with "soothing herbs" only to have Christine poisoned and choke onstage. This maid was even using Carlotta's exact words and there was a huge bulge in her pocket she hadn't even attempted to hide! But theory had to be tested. "Alright then." She passed me the china cup. I pretended to sip and the maid eyed me intently. "Would you please fetch Madame Giry for me?"

"Certainly Mademoiselle." She stepped out and came back with her a few minutes later.

"What is it my dear? You're keeping me from my rehearsal."

"I do apologize, Madame, but there's something urgent. Carlotta's maid has poisoned my tea."

"That's ridiculous!" the maid snapped back too quickly.

"You're not a good liar Mademoiselle," I reproached coolly, "I can make out the bottle of the stuff in your apron pocket."

"That's my medicine! I have a condition."

My eyebrow arched. "Oh? What?"

"Erm- my heart skips beats!" she said lamely.

"You took too long to answer. The poison would cause me to choke the minute I started to sing, providing you and your employer with a laugh. But you're forgetting; the Phantom wouldn't find it funny at all."

The maid furrowed her eyebrows. "What's the Phantom got to do with it?"

My face flushed. "Never you mind!"

"It's too late for you anyway, you already sipped it!" she retorted triumphantly.

"Oh, pish. I only pretended to drink so I could observe your reaction, and you never took your eyes off me."

The maid bowed her head and Madame Giry felt around in the apron pocket, pulling out a miniscule green bottle. "I'll make sure you never work again," she spat. The maid let out a little sniffle. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention Christine."

"You're welcome Madame. But please don't be too harsh on her."

"That is not for me to decide. We'll bring this up with the managers. And I'll have someone get you a fresh cup of tea." Madame Giry took the tainted one from me, seized the sobbing maid's wrist, and left the room. I sank back into the bubbles. I'd had my fair share of offstage drama before, but this was ridiculous!


	5. Chapter 4

It was 7 o'clock, one hour before we opened. Everyone was frantic, running down the halls and yelling for last minute additions and changes. In my dressing room, the new maid (a much nicer gentler girl) assisted me with the tailored dress for Elissa. The butterflies and adrenaline rush made my fingers tremble and fumble with the snaps and buttons. I applied the makeup and when I looked at myself in the mirror Christine Daae was gone. Elissa, the fierce queen of Carthage had taken charge.

"Will that be all, Mademoiselle."

"Yes, thank you."

"Good luck tonight. You'll be splendid."

I thanked her again and she left me with my other costumes, shutting the door. The clock read quarter past seven. That gave me more than enough time to pray. The thick folds of my skirt made it difficult to kneel, so I prayed sitting on the chaise. After a decade of the rosary, I added my own personal intentions. "…And Angel, if you are here, be on that stage with me tonight. You have given me so much, I can only hope I've repaid you."

"You repay me with your song, Christine. It is more than enough for any Angel, let alone mere mortals," said a voice behind me. I sat bolt upright. I almost cried, "Erik!" but caught myself. "Angel!"

"Come, Christine. Time for your vocal exercises." My heart sank. His speaking voice sounded like Gerard Butler's. _Don't let that mean he has Gerard's singing voice, too!_ I thought. _Or his deformity either!_ I approached the mirror and we began with scales. Thankfully, he _didn't_ have Gerard's singing voice, which I noticed as he jumped in to correct me. "No! Breather deeper from the diaphragm, listen.  
And he'd sing the correct note. It was robust and radiated power. The sound motivated me to push myself, to try and match his level. "Much better, my dear! Much better! Now the arpeggio." We warmed up for 10-15 minutes. "Christine, it is almost time for you to go backstage. Bow you head for my blessing."

I obeyed and tried to sink to the floor as much as my skirt would allow. "There is magic in the theatre and the theatre is magic. Blessed are those who have been given this gift from the world and who use this gift to give back to the world." It was nearly the same poem my theatre troupe director used before opening night. "You may rise."

"Thank you, Angel. That was beautiful." A stagehand rapped at the door.

"Five minutes, Mademoiselle Daae."

"Thank you," I called back, "I'll be out shortly." I faced the mirror. "I love you, Angel. I will give you my soul tonight."

"And I in return shall give you the heart of Paris. Go, my child. May God and the music of his Angels be with you."

I blessed myself and left, quickly glancing at the mirror before shutting the door.


	6. Chapter 5

The audience was filing in the house and were all aboard. I don't think they were excited about the opera, but they were there to see and be seen. The prospect at seeing a naïve chorus girl publicly humiliate herself was an unexpected bonus. And somewhere amongst them were Raoul and Phillippe, waiting to see what their fortune had been wasted on. _Don't think about them,_ I thought, _think of Erik. How proud he'll be, how he'll reward me. I shan't disappoint him._ A stagehand presented me with the severed head (papier mache wrapped in nylon with streams of red silk). "Good luck, Mademoiselle." I nodded, smiling. Meg was off in the wings and we looked at each other smiling with glee and she clapped her hands softly.

The orchestra tuned up; a hush fell over the audience but there was still some muttering and snobbish laughter as the overture played. Nervous adrenaline pulsed through me with a wonderful rush. "Angel, you will be proud." The curtain rose, the music ceased. All eyes were on me.

"This trophy, from our saviors, from our saviors, from the enslaving force of Rome!"

The spare mutters and laughter ceased at the first note. It was a good sign, but there were three acts to go. The ballerinas leapt on stage and the spell was broken. Hannibal went off without a hitch, a smash opening. La Sorelli and Piangi's understudy were incomparable and the ballet corps pushed themselves to exertion. But my triumph was Think of Me, concluding Act III. Elissa was left on the shores of Carthage declaring her love when he was too far away to hear.

"Think of me

Think of me fondly

When we've said goodbye

Remember me every so often

Promise me you'll try

On that day - that not so distant day

When you are far away and free

If you ever find a moment

Spare a thought for me

And though it's clear

Though it was always clear

That this was never meant to be

If you happen to remember

Stop and think of me

Think of august when the trees were green

Don't think about the way things might have been

Think of me

Think of me waking

Silent and resigned

Imagine me trying too hard to put you from my mind

Think of me please say you'll think of me

Whatever else you choose to do

There will never be a day when

I won't think of you!"

The audience cheered until I was one minute into Elissa's ballet, which had been previously cut because of Carlotta's physique. While dancing, Raoul's lyrics ran through my head. _Don't think about him. You don't sing for Raoul, you sing for your Angel who is always there._

"Flowers fade

The fruits of summer fade

They have their season so do we

But please promise me

That sometimes you…will…think…"

The orchestra faded away. There would be no place to hide, the cadenza had to be perfect and effortless. Inhaling from the diaphragm, I began the cadenza and followed with the succession of thirteen eighth notes. _Please don't let me fail now._ E-High C! It hung in the air unwavering! "…of me!" I flung Elissa's scarf into the air and collapsed on the ground.

All of Paris' high society erupted into a standing ovation. The curtain closed on me, but their shouts of praise grew louder. "Brava! Brava, mademoiselle!" The stage hands reopened the curtain and there was a tremendous roar! My arms reached out in gratitude and I sank into a curtsy. The curtains were drawn again and after a couple more seconds, the audience got the message and sat down.

The final curtain call was incredible. The cheers and rapid applause were so overwhelming, I cried and the audience lapped it up even though I meant every tear. Paris had fallen for me in one night, all thanks to him. Two bouquets of flowers were brought out and Piangi's understudy kissed my hand.

"Beautiful, mademoiselle. Well done."

I curtsied, blushing. "Thank you sir." I took the flowers and inhaled their sweet perfume. I smiled at the two footmen who brought them out. "These are lovely. Thank you." They smiled back and bowed silently. The managers came out and shook my hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen," shouted Monsieur Andre over the roaring crowd, "The Opera Populaire is proud to introduce our new shining star, Mademoiselle Christine Daae!" The audience roared even louder. I waved at all the smiling faces and curtsied. But as I curtsied, I stumbled. It was starting to hit me; the heat of the stage lights, the vocal and physical fatigue, the weight of my enormous costume, the thickness of all the fabric…The curtains finally closed and I collapsed onto the ground. A few gasped and there was a scramble as several actors hoisted me to my feet. A few others grabbed the bouquets on the floor and rushed them off the stage.

"Are you alright?" demanded Monsieur Firmin. He asked not out of concern for me, but out of concern that the Opera Populiare might be losing two divas in one night.

"I just need a lie down. That's all."

A stagehand came to me with a glass of water. I took it gratefully and downed the glass in one. That might have not been the most ladylike thing to do as several eyes around me widened, but my mouth was as dry as sandpaper. I tentatively took a step forward and when I didn't tremble, I kept walking to the stage door. I turned around to face the company. "This opening would not have been possible without any of you onstage and off. You _all_ deserve the glory tonight on this fine performance. Congratulations everyone!"

There were cheers from the company and I softly shut the door behind me. Everyone would be off to various parties now, but I wanted to rest. Rest and meet my angel.


End file.
